


On a Normal Evening

by terraperformance



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Boys Being Boys, First Kiss, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, My First Work in This Fandom, Other, Scars, Smooching, not really - Freeform, pyro is non binary, pyro is soft, scout introspection (??? im confused too)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-19
Updated: 2019-09-19
Packaged: 2020-10-21 17:13:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20697122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/terraperformance/pseuds/terraperformance
Summary: “You lookin’ like something we put on da braii.” They gaze critically at Scout’s face, analysing but without judgement. He can see his friend study his long nose, his thin lips, his strong jaw and soft, expressive brow. Rest upon blue green eyes.“The what?” Scout missed a beat, but his friend doesn’t seem to mind.“Barbecue, what the white dads do in America. Because you’re pink, you look like lobster…” Pyro breaks off into a quiet giggle, smiling widely to show off long white canines; gapped teeth; a pink tongue that darts out and wets their lips.





	On a Normal Evening

**Author's Note:**

> woowoo. let's pray i don't take this down after posting it ahhh. this was meant to be part of something longer. but i've been on ao3 for two years and haven't posted any of my many drabbles so let's get the ball rolling

It’s not exactly a struggle for dominance. Or, it wasn’t.

They lay there, two creatures in an otherworldy existence - not really, just the combination of some pain medication and the soft lamp glow in the late night made it feel like… somewhere else, far away. 

Fingers played with each other, the howling of wind picking up and then quieting down, a perpetual, soothing call from the earth to its inhabitants. Scout rolled onto his side to look at Pyro, trapping one arm beneath him to no bother. He just wanted to look at them - her? - resting there. 

They had that mask-half-on thing, soft lips peeking out under hard looking, ash coated rubber. Soft lips peaking in a little dusty pink cupid’s bow, all rose coloured, or some romantic shit like that. 

The two of them were silent, gentle. At first, these moments of peace were hard for Scout to keep up. More than hard - they were excruciating, and he failed many a time, but now he’s glad to have kept up some side of a quietly made bargain; he doesn’t speak, and Pyro is able to radiate something reminiscent of meditation, except it comes out of them. It leaks into the surrounding space, a void of nothingness and wonder, the true silence of the times when Pyro isn’t plagued by their cacophonous thoughts. And Scout’s only just begun to see the trust his colleague-  _ friend _ is putting in him by allowing him to share this space. 

_ Why wouldn’t they? _ Scout’s a cool guy. He’s manly, he’s a good fighter, he’s fast and can outrun pretty much anything - physical or otherwise… but that’s precisely the point. No one ever  _ ever _ trusts him with something important, or delicate. He wants to ask why, why him; the lurking sensation of there being an ulterior motive. A crocodile hiding in murky depths, waiting…  _ waiting _ . 

It reminds him of those times he got in trouble at school and he’d sit and wonder what the punishment would be; how much it would hurt; would it leave bruises? 

Ma was ruthless, she had to be, but it was better than one of his brothers - because they would just hurt him for  _ entertainment _ ; the satisfaction in seeing an animal weaker than yourself at your mercy. 

The funny yelps and the stupid, desperate things people do when they’re trying to avoid physical harm. 

But that’s the bitter. That’s the fact that Scout can’t deal with anticipation. It drives him nuts; so he gets bored, or he keeps poking at the subject until it runs away or blows up in his face. He’s patient with Pyro, no idea why. Maybe the fact that Pyro is patient in return. 

Scout feels his own body in the mattress, the slump next to him, his feet poking over the foot of the bed because this must’ve been a kids one the maniac shipped in… or something like that. Maybe not. 

The runner gets goosebumps all up one side, a jerk in his right elbow.

He feels Pyro shift ever so slightly, the way the quilt pulls away just a little, brushing Scout’s bare arm - the mouse-like creak of Pyro’s bed underneath them both. 

A year and a bit ago the runner thought his teammate was a creature. Terrifying; the kind of thing only spoken about around the cubs campfire - not that Scout was in Cubs for very long, he got a number of strikes… Wandering far off path to climb a tree and causing the team leaders to send out an honest to god search party, littering, antagonising his fellow cubs, interrupting during sharing times. And these incidents all happened within a number of weeks. 

Scout wonders if Pyro had a childhood like that. Or maybe they were rich, raised in a snotty stuck up home with perfectly white couches and a converted attic. He glances at their arms; the scars, all carved out of bronze. 

Streaky, mean looking things; deep at the best of times, disfiguring at the worst. Some clearly burns, some too straight in a way that unsettles him, swims like fish in the shallow bowl of Scout’s stomach. Nauseating. And Scout thinks that perhaps Pyro had it less than easy. 

He hovers a look over them, their eyes covered with the thick gas mask- might as well take the chance. A steady inhale, exhale… inflating and deflating, almost balloon like. The soft rise and fall of their chest. For something so destructive, Pyro is almightily soft. In every way, outside of the battlefield.

Scout watches their right hand’s middle finger twitch, exhales a soft whistle through his mouth that Pyro barely responds to. Just a flex, their fingers stretching to search for Scout’s. 

The two of them are tantalisingly close like this. A few minutes pass, and Scout just takes in all of these details; absorbs as much as he can. He wants to touch them. 

The runner lifts his right arm, gingerly, hesitating, before placing his hand on the far side of Pyro’s waist. 

They don’t exactly jump, but do recoil in shock. Scout can’t move, though. They are so warm, so burning hot, it’s addictive, even just through his palm. He makes a little circular motion with his thumb, smoothing over the flesh. Their cropped hoodie means the two of them are flesh against flesh now.

“Scoot…?” Pyro murmurs, voice tight but soft. “Gumbo…” 

It’s a new nickname. 

The runner clears his throat. “Yah Py it’s me. Y’just… ahdunno. You’re all there, lookin’ all warm n’at. Iz hard to resist. I just wanted t’be closer to you-” Scout cuts himself off. That didn’t sound all that cocksure. 

He kneads his palm into Pyro’s tummy reflexively, hitches his lip up in that way he does when he’s made a mistake. The arsonist is looking at him now but Scout can’t tell, through the mask. All he can see is two circular, black eyes. Possessed and dead looking, though somehow Pyro wears it in the most endearing way possible. 

“I mean, when you see it llike dis, we’re chillin’ here for how long now? Hours? I figure it ain’t really…”

Scout loses his trail of thought when the idea crosses him that maybe Pyro doesn’t mind. They haven’t moved away or scalded him; they just said a couple words.

How the runner always jumps ahead, too quick for his own good. He’s the  _ impatient hare _ , except he doesn’t lose the race. Ever. Not to a tortoise, not to a  _ sneaky freakin’ frenchman round some corner. _

And then Pyro is batting away his hand, though it’s so gentle Scout isn’t sure it could be considered batting. He feels surprisingly deflated at the loss of contact; about to make a witty comment when Pyro lifts both hands to their mask and pulls it off completely, sitting - not pushing themselves up but just, curling; one has to admire abdominal muscles that allow that. Not that Scout is any different, but he does look at his friend with a smirk of… pride? Rather than rivalry. He’s  _ glad _ they’re friends. He’s smug he gets to  _ see _ this.

Pyro drops the mask the remaining few inches to the floor and then smooths out their clothes, adjusting their hair, before laying down again to face Scout. 

This way, if Scout was to put his hand on their waist he would be risking hugging territory - though something tells him maybe it wouldn’t be too bad.

He’s avoiding looking at Pyro, for fear of their surely soul-staring eyes digging something up in him that even  _ he _ doesn’t know exists. 

“Were you gonna say summing?” The arsonist pokes. 

Scout makes the mistake of sustaining direct eye contact before looking away flusteredly like a  _ kid _ . Or like he’s been burnt. Either way, Pyro is both confused and amused. 

All legs and american boy cockiness, Scout isn’t usually one to be seen out of sorts in any way. 

The tips of his ears are red.

He takes another glance at Pyro, studying their features briefly. 

A few acne scars, a few zits; huge almond shaped eyes, all grey brown and swirly; the lips, those Scout are more familiar with; little chin compared to their fairly round cheeks; their nose is button like, a winding scar from forehead to about halfway down the bridge of their nose. Not… anything. Except-

“Hey there…” Scout tries to crack a charming grin. It partially succeeds.

Pyro cocks their head ever so slightly. “Allo Gumbo.” 

Strange, sensual, French sounding. Their voice constantly perplexes the runner.

He struggles for breath, for some reason, seeing Pyro talk. 

“You lookin’ like something we put on da braii.” They gaze critically at Scout’s face, analysing but without judgement. He can see his friend study his long nose, his thin lips, his strong jaw and soft, expressive brow. Rest upon blue green eyes. 

“The what?” Scout missed a beat, but his friend doesn’t seem to mind.

“Barbecue, what the white dads do in America. Because you’re pink, you look like lobster…” Pyro breaks off into a quiet giggle, smiling widely to show off long white canines; gapped teeth; a pink tongue that darts out and wets their lips. 

Scout is too astounded to be embarrassed. Pyro laughing,  _ smiling _ , right in front of him. They are close enough to share warmth now, it’s strange. All of it is strange, compelling; the young man feels his stomach churn. The hairs raise on his arms, Pyro’s giggle dies down to a shy smile, but before they can retreat anymore Scout has lurched forward to kiss them.

This is weird.

He didn’t really want their laugh to ever stop, and - and -

He pulls away suddenly, after feeling no reciprocation. The warmth feels considerably less warm now, and the wind still hums outside as testament to this being reality. Oh shit. Oh crap.

“I- m- I’m real sorry sparks, that was… uh’dunno. Just, thought’at. Well, yeah. You uh… woof, uh… You ok?” He stumbles over his words.

Pyro nods. “Shocked, z’all.” 

They pat Scout’s shoulder, a reassuring act gone wrong somewhere along the line of the arsonist not partaking in any sort of social niceties most of the time - guess they just need practise, is all. 

“Calmez vous.” And then, a scarred hand fluttering against one of his burning cheeks. “Rooi boy. Y’blush something fierce!” Their little grin again. 

Scout’s eyes widen. 

“It’s not blushing.” He mumbles, after a moment, looking away.

“Ja?”

That’s a taunt. Pyro is being surprisingly talkative today. 

When Scout fails to respond, the arsonist touches the back of his head gingerly, saying,  _ come _ in this calm voice. 

This time it’s Scout who’s unprepared for the kiss. Pyro gently mouths his lips with their own, their breath is warm and sour; they smell like ash, that skin all hot again. 

Scout melts.

Neither of them are especially good kissers, so it’s nothing extraordinary, but the runner becomes addicted after number three. 

Pyro’s lips are heated, soft as what he imagines silk to feel like. It was three long drags of this human cigarette, and then they pulled away for breath, which Scout couldn’t accept. 

After ten seconds, perhaps a little more, probably a little less, he was on Pyro again. 

He didn’t really want to ever let go, so he kissed them again and again; soft pecks on the lips, curling his arm around their waist. He forgot who they both are after the first few, reliving a good feeling over and over and over. 

The tease of losing that heat and then getting it back again; the lightheaded sensation of literally stealing one another’s oxygen.

It’s dreamy and exciting and relaxing all at once.

Pyro kisses back when they can, but - alike in almost all other areas of life - Scout is at a pace a good few light years ahead, even if he’s stumbling blindly. 

They feel over the back of his head, scratching their fingers through his too-short hair, he mumbles a response to that, some encouragement because it feels far more incredible than it has any right to, but the words are muffled by the arsonist’s mouth.

Maybe time slows, inch by inch; because space time is a thing right? Engie said so when explaining the teleporters one time. Scout only asked because he wanted to sound smart, so he could impress Miss Pauling; but it didn’t go far. 

Huh. Miss Pauling - strange, how she seems like a distant memory. 

Scout doesn’t remember when he crooked his elbow to prop himself up over his friend, but his bicep looks great like this. He hopes Pyro notices, even though that would be impossible with their faces currently mushed together. 

It’s not frantic, despite Scout’s general skittishness in all areas of life; they kiss melodically, simply trying to get closer and closer. Bordering on the concept of not being separate despite their human forms. The feeling one gets when they are so pressed to another that they may as well be one. 

It’s all heat blooming from wherever their bodies meet; comfort. Pyro is honest and delicate with their lips, despite being firm in a way that makes Scout shiver. 

He presses short kisses along the bottom of Pyro’s lips, to the side of their mouth, along their jaw and down, grinning like a madman as they squirm when he kisses their neck.

_ You like that buddy? _ Scout thinks, but he doesn’t say it aloud. All the wriggling, like they can’t take what he’s laying on them, is doing something to him.

Upon taking a longer break, the runner can see how he’s swollen up his friend’s lips from sucking, tugging, needing. It’s cute; and there’s that feeling of pride again. 

God. Pyro really is cute; from all those random dark freckles, to their old fashioned kind of lashes; each heave of their chest, and the way their nostrils sometimes flare on an exhale, the breeze from them huffing mimicking the weather outside. 

Scout doesn’t wear tight pants, they hang low on his slender hips, and the hard on he has is at the perfect angle to stick out like something from a slapstick show. 

Pyro is no prude, they glance down at him, and back up.

“Don’t… uh. It’s just like, y’kno, if a guy finds something hot… who am I kidding you know that stuff. Guess uh I just liked all’at kissing and stuff.” Scout is flushed and flustered still, but the arsonist’s humble effect on him has worn off, cocky grin plastered all over his face.

Pyro half expects the kid to jump up and announce to the base that he has been kissed, more than once, by the same person today, and  _ no it’s not his ma.  _


End file.
